


(Day 17) Bloom

by mydwynter



Series: January Sherlock Vignette Challenge [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coffeeshop AU, January Sherlock Vignette Challenge, M/M, Mrs. Hudson the matchmaker, Pre-Slash, Shipper on Deck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:46:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydwynter/pseuds/mydwynter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Mrs. Hudson cleared a space on Sherlock's kitchen table and gestured for John to set down the vase of flowers he was carrying.</i>
</p><p>Mrs. Hudson takes the opportunity to put a word in John's ear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Day 17) Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> My mind rebels in stagnation. So every day for the month of January…well, I had PLANNED on posting a Sherlock vignette, born out of prompts from generators and friends alike, little pieces written quickly and posted, sketches made from words. But these best laid plans went massively aglay due to travel and illness, so I have a lot of catching up to do. January was a terrible time to do this, it turns out. Terrible.
> 
> Today's prompt: Mrs. Hudson, John, coffeeshop AU, 221b, "flowers"

Mrs. Hudson cleared a space on Sherlock's kitchen table and gestured for John to set down the vase of flowers he was carrying. "Thank you for offering to bring those up for me, love. Running up and down those stairs one more time today wouldn't do me any favours."

But John wasn't listening, ensnared as he was by the sights and the smells of the kitchen. Sherlock had kitted it out to serve as his centre of culinary invention, and the result was half mad scientist's lab, half warlock's den, all mess. The stainless steel table was piled with stacks of spotted and stained notebooks and groaned under the weight of a spectacular chemistry set. He'd taken the upper cupboard doors off and had filled the shelves with row upon row of ingredients: little glass jars of powder and amber dropper bottles with hand-written labels. The worktop was covered with used flasks and pipettes, and the sink had a ring of some flaking residue the colour of cocoa powder. The place was a wreck, but it smelled rich and sweet and warm, and John instantly loved it.

Mrs. Hudson was smiling at him. "I'd forgotten you hadn't been up here before," she said.

He shook his head. "Only downstairs in the shop," he said, still gazing around with rapt attention. "He's never invited me up."

"I'm sure he would have sooner or later, love," she said, adjusting how the vase of flowers sat in the centre of the table then turning around to start washing glassware.

John focused on the contents of one cupboard, then skimmed the next, looking for something, his head tilted to the side. "There's no food." Doesn't Sherlock eat? He must do; he's human after all, and while he does seem a bit malnourished he's not dead. And he's a _food_ scientist. That got to amount to something.

Mrs. Hudson gestured with a soapy hand at the freezer. "He's fairly stocked with frozen meals, but mostly he gets takeaway or whatever I bring him." What with her up to her elbows in fairy liquid, and the news that she regularly fed him, John found himself questioning her assertion that she was solely the building's landlady and owner of the coffeeshop. His last landlady could barely be arsed to salt the walk in winter, and his current one he'd only met once, back when he moved in. The idea of either of them feeding him was laughable.

"He doesn't cook, then."

"You've seen him. He rarely eats. If you ask me, he needs someone around to remind him every once in a while." She cast John a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, and John turned away with his arms behind his back, blushing. He tapped the end of his cane against his heel, suddenly feeling the need to fidget.

"So he doesn't? Have anyone?"

"Not…as such, no." she said. "He's not an easy one to get to know, that one."

"How do you know him, then?" John asked, examining a bottle of something inexplicably labeled _DO NOT USE_.

"My husband wasn't a very nice man, turns out, money laundering and the like, and Sherlock helped the police get him for counterfeiting spirits."

"Counterfeiting spirits?" John's brow furrowed.

"Faking expensive bottles of scotch, dear. Not ghosts." She giggled. "Though I think I would have enjoyed Sherlock exposing those fake mystics on the telly." The hand holding the dishcloth plunked to the worktop for a moment as Mrs. Hudson stood in thought. "Come to think of it, he might try solving more crimes like that. Might do very well, with that palate of his."

"I don't suppose he'd listen if you suggested it to him." John's expression made it clear what he thought the chances of that would be.

Mrs. Hudson just raised an eyebrow at him and went back to doing the washing-up.

"Maybe he'd listen if I said something," John said with a pointedly-casual tilt to his head. 

Mrs. Hudson cast a look at him over her shoulder, and she smiled. "You could always try it, love. Talk to him more. I'm sure he'd like that."

John tried to school his features to something cool and relaxed. "You are?"

Mrs. Hudson dried her hands and turned around to take his. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. Chat with him. Don't let the grumpiness put you off. He's a sweetheart, when you get down to it, and…" She gave John a soft smile. "I think you should, John. Bring some work into the shop and spend some time here this week. Please?"

Her intensity was surprising, but the idea of seeing Sherlock frequently was more than a little appealing. "All right," John said, and returned her smile. "I think I will."


End file.
